Unmasked- Act 1- Issue 0- Prologue
by Thedude2222
Summary: A Gotham novel detailing the end of the legend of Batman.


**Prologue:**

 **Heavy Is the Head**

Fools. Every last one of them arguing over the effectiveness of multi-bladed pit traps versus animatronic suicide bomber baby dolls. They miss the point of this collective meeting of the minds prattling on about their master ploys, feints, and double crosses in their ridiculous masks and capes. Perhaps it's a lack of subtlety that keeps the Batman a step ahead, Edward thought as he leaned back in his chair. His six thousand dollar Italian-made suit was a screaming lime green spattered with white question marks sewn with Egyptian thread. Scanning down the table through transparent purple prescription shades he raised the golden cane Hilda and slammed her against the dark mahogany wood.

"GENTLEMAN!" he shouted over the slowly dimming jeers, slurs, and chemical compounds resounding from every direction, "If we could bring this meeting to some semblance of order? I thought we should start with a roll call. I believe Calculator…um, I'm sorry. What is your real name? I've never asked." Calculator glanced up from his holographic data pad.

"It's Orville Noah Kuttler," Calculator stated. Doctor Death snickered into his new Murder Glove. He desperately hoped someone would bring up his newest invention in conversation, so far nothing.

"That's a brutal origin story," Cluemaster quipped and joined Lock-Up in heavy laughter. Orville looked down the table in amazement.

"You're a grown man, and this is how you choose to act?" he asked in exasperation, "Screw it. I'm not doing roll call. However I will give a tally of everyone's IQ to gauge our capacity for intellect or lack thereof." The gathering murmured in agreement. The lowest IQ, nearly matching a Neanderthal's, belongs to Lyle Bolton also known as Lock-Up sporting a paltry 168." Chuckles erupted around the room.

"You're a bastard, Orville," Lock-Up sneered.

"Oh kiss my ass! You still owe me twenty grand on that 'investment' that went bad," Calculator countered.

"It's been hard since I lost my old gig, and that job did go bad. I woke up in a pile of garbage, robbed, and carrying a hangover that felt like I smashed a bus in two with my head," Lock-Up complained.

"You _did_ smash a bus in two!" Calculator yelled, "My agent found you in the gutter after shooting Venom with a bunch of Bane's boys. Figure it out Lyle, and get me that money before I send Deathstroke to pay you a visit." While he continued laying into Lyle, a bored Doctor Death leaned over to Professor Hugo Strange and whispered.

"Who does Venom nowadays anyway, huh Hugh? I'd never mess around with poison like that, right? So anyway you were saying you had some old anthrax vials up in the attic I could get off you. I've got this bomb I've been working on it'd be perfect for."

"GENTLEMAN!" Edward shouted again, "Please continue Orville."

"Of course, next we have Dr. Karl Hellfern aka Dr. Death at 180, Arthur Brown the Cluemaster at 196, just behind the young Lonnie Machin aka Anarky at 198. Professor Hugo Strange takes us to 203, topped only by myself the Calculator at 209. Edward Nygma, score not available," Calculator trailed off.

"That's outrageous, Edward. Why didn't they test you?" the old doctor Karl demanded.

"Oh they did," he replied, "However before they gave me the test I turned in a sheet of all the questions and answers they were going to ask. They thought I cheated somehow until I did it on two more, and they told me to get out. They seemed immensely uneasy. My father sided with them of course and I was punished for over a month. Satisfied? Now if no one else has any pressing matters perhaps we can begin?" For once the room was silent from the individual contemplation of its residents. Edward stood and in two long strides reached the bar where he removed a small marble box.

"This box represents a question. In fact the _only_ question that matters-

"Who's under the mask?" Lock-Up spouted. Edward sighed softly setting the box on the table.

"There is no mask, you simpleton. Or if there is it's the one he wears when he's not the Batman."

"I disagree," the quiet youth Anarky spoke for the first time, "He's clearly a very wealthy man to pay for such toys. If we took them away he'd be significantly weaker, but why even worry about him. I developed a better idea. My people are a powerful force. If we were to work together and combine the knowledge of everyone in this room, we could solve the world's problems in a week. Think of it: clean energy, counteracting climate change, basic incomes, better treatments in healthcare, abolishing homelessness, free quality education, and clean healthy food and water for everyone. We could jumpstart a new humanitarian revolution with the keen minds gathered here.

Please gentlemen, for once put aside your base needs and desires and help us. The common man would rise up without a need for their rich masters and hand us the world on a silver platter. No hostile takeover required but more importantly no Batman." The room grew deathly silent until Professor Strange removed his glasses and shook his head, then it erupted.

"I must have missed the JLA sign on the door. I'm in the wrong meeting," Cluemaster guffawed and pounded his fist on the table.

"You mean actually do real work to take over the world?" Calculator wondered aloud, "I'd rather just buy a controlling share."

"Come in here talking about doing good like you're a new Robin," muttered Dr. Death under his breath, " _That's_ offensive."

"The audacity, the gall of youth," Edward scoffed, "to presume there exists a utopia to be found. Nothing makes me sick like naked idealism. Let's say we all band together to make this wonderful world, do you believe they would thank you? Praise you? You idiot, they would hate you for it. You'd be absolutely perplexed at human nature as they nailed you to the cross. I invited you here Lonnie because I foolishly assumed you had some tiny bit of sense in your head, and I now see what a mistake that was. You disrespect your elders and the honor of this intellectual roundtable." He spit on the carpet in contempt.

"I admit even I have been distracted by the antics of the Batman at times," Edward began again, "but in all our foolish behavior, we continue to fail to see the forest for the trees. We fail to see the most obvious question that no one can begin to attempt to answer. All the years all the battles against so many of us that begs this simple question. How does he _always_ win?" The room grew quiet again. His audience caught in thoughtful silence.

"Even if you make the argument that he's better than us, a man still can't play the odds that long. Bane broke his _back_ , and he's still out there jumping off rooftops. I want to know why! And the only thing that can bring down a monster like that is the truth, the answer. Even after reaching that goal, I'll go so far beyond him to see what or who weaves our fabric and to understand what it is that blesses him and curses me. I can change it all with _this_." Edward picked up the box and opened the lid. Inside was a vial, inside the vial was a small white pill.

"This single pill designed over the course of a year between me, Professor Strange, and consultations from a certain spooky psychiatrist resulted in the world's first Smart Pill, patent pending. The fairly simple formula is designed to boost or enhance a subject's natural intelligence to extraordinary capacity. Tonight we are prepared for our first human trial on yours truly, right now." Edward removed the pill holding it up in his palm.

"I've brought you all here to witness my greatest creation. The Answer. Behold history as man finally discovers the truth behind his existence. That's one small dose for man," he said and swallowed his medicine.

Nothing happened for the first few minutes. Then Edward felt his pupils dilate and pulse quicken. Blood rushed to his head like he was hung upside down. If the chemical compound improved mental capacity, he certainly couldn't think beyond the sharp pain in his chest. His body seized as he tried to stand, and he fell on the conference table with a light trickle of foam dripping down the side of his mouth.

Edward Nygma died wide eyed in front of his peers on that table from a bad hit of his own arrogance. Though like so many other enemies of the Bat, not even death could stop him from his obsession. The proud genius of Gotham would stroll brazenly through the afterlife itself to find what he sought: the truth or whatever passed for it these days. Even more surprising was he would find it. 


End file.
